


The Battlefield

by hubblegleeflower



Series: Favourite Ficlets [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 13:57:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6661234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hubblegleeflower/pseuds/hubblegleeflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How to cross the infinite distance between two bodies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Battlefield

A look had crossed John’s face, and Sherlock had _seen_  it. Had seen the sadness, and the tenderness, and the wide blue eyes, unguarded for only the briefest moment - John, who almost never let his guard down. Yes, this time Sherlock had seen it, and having seen it once, he realised he had seen it a thousand times. 

This time, though, he understood it. This time, everything was clear. Everything changed.

“John.” His name only, and Sherlock had crossed the room and entered his space and hadn’t thought twice about it, had not even hesitated. _That look._ There was no way he could be wrong.

But now they were stood together in the sitting room in Baker Street, bodies close, foreheads almost touching as Sherlock bent, as his head dropped down out of sheer relief to finally, _finally_ , cross this distance, and unexpectedly John was trembling.

They were already so close. Two bodies, not quite touching, but John’s eyes were closed, tight, squeezed shut, as a man does who is expecting a blow he can’t deflect, or an explosion. _Flinching._ His eyes were closed, and his fists were clenched, and he was _trembling._

John, who shot the cabbie, straight and true, John, who tackled the Golem. _John was trembling_. He had been as drugged as as terrified as the rest of them but had faced down the Hound without so much as a quiver. 

But this, somehow, was more than his courage could bear.

(They were so close. Two bodies, not quite touching. What was there in a close body and ardent puffs of breath that was more frightening than a murderous giant or a slavering hound? Was it so dreadful, then, John, to finally be seen?)

Sherlock did not move away. His head dropped further, and his own eyes closed beneath his knit brows. (So close.) He was close enough that he could feel the tremulous gasps of John’s breathing on his skin. (Not quite touching.) He had been _so sure_  only a moment before. So sure of what he had seen, and now this. Had everything changed, or nothing?

“John? I -” What could he say? “Did I get it wrong?”

A ragged, panting breath, a drowning breath. His eyes did not open, nor his fists unclench. “Sher -” He stopped, tried again. “Sherlock.” A pained twist of his head, his face crumpling even further. His mouth.

It was Sherlock’s turn to flinch. (They were not quite touching.) “I thought I saw…”   _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I got it wrong, I’m sorry._ He’d been so sure that everything had changed. “I thought you wanted -”

At the word _wanted_ , John’s breathing turned to a rasping snarl. “I do, Sherlock, I bloody well do, I want, all right? _I want._  Whatever you saw, yes, I want, more than - more than - you don’t know. _You can’t offer this to me_ , Sherlock. You can’t, unless you -” Another pained breath. 

“Unless I what?

John was trying. He drew a steadying breath. His eyes opened, flicked to Sherlock’s, closed again. “If you’re going to take it away again. To change your - I can’t have this and lose it, Sherlock. Not this.”

“But…” But John knew about loss. His injury, his career. Sherlock himself. Mary. _The baby._  So much.

John said, again, softly, “Not this.”

“But could I…” Where were his _words?_  John had lost his courage and Sherlock his words. The world was ending. Everything had changed.

(All from two bodies already so close but not quite touching.)

“Could I offer it if, if I wasn’t going to change my mind? Could I…I’m not, John. I have never not wanted this. You. I have never not wanted you.” It was the simple truth. Simple. He could have said it anytime. _He could have said it anytime at all._ Oh, god.

A breath (whose?) and another. One more, and light dawned in John’s drawn face. The room, the world pivoted around them (two bodies, so close, one fixed point) _._ The shift in their realities was almost palpable, though nothing actually changed.

“Could I?” Sherlock asked again.

And in a long, silent exhale, John said, “Yeah.” 

They were already so close. Their mouths - almost nothing had to change for them to meet.

And they did meet, and everything changed. 

(Two bodies, touching.)


End file.
